


Midway

by LaughableLament



Series: Supernatural NaPoWriMo 2020 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn-napowrimo, Community: spnapo, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Series Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Prose Poem, absolute tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: First date at the county fair.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural NaPoWriMo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725004
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Midway

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Supernatural NaPoWriMo](https://spn-napowrimo.livejournal.com/)’s 2020 challenge. 
> 
> Prompt: Kansas

He’s got homework. 

But it’s a Friday night, and Dean’s hell-bent on Brother Time.

Which… probably means high school football game, where Dean’s gonna ditch him for some cheerleader.

Dean licks lips. Swipes hands on his thighs and starts the car. Cuts a plastic smirk across the seat, backs out the driveway. Highway weaves between tall waving wheat. 

They pass the high school.

If he asks where they’re going Dean’ll just bullshit him.

Hooked elbows hang out open windows. Dean belts _b-b-b b-b-b bad to the bone_ out into the cricket song. Kiss-faced, wet-mouthed stutter. Head bobs; grins flick over.

*

WRISTBAND NIGHT!

Glow like a small city domes the horizon. Popcorn, peanut oil, and diesel fumes.

_Dude—_

_Don’t even start with me, Sammy, you loved this shit when you were little._

_Operative, ‘when I was little.’_

UNLIMITED RIDES!

*

Midway lights kaleidoscope Dean’s broad grin. Sneakers slap packed dirt, dash past fly-by-night food shacks: cotton candy, funnel cakes and shake-ups. Hot dogs, Twinkies, Oreos, deep-fried-on-a-stick. Cooked-sugary humid. Ropes of colored bulbs flash under patterned awnings, dizzying. 

Bright-striped tent-tops shelter games of chance and skill. Men test strength, lovers hold hands, parents chase kids, air rifles pop and bells clang.

Crowd gets thick. Dean grabs his wrist and drags him under strobing arches.

They ride The Spider, Centrifuge and Rolling Thunder. Tilt-a-Whirl and teacups, twirling fast enough he can’t tell if it’s vertigo or Dean spinning his head. Bumper car drag race, doomed to fail as Dean sideswipes, puts him into the safety tires and speeds off hollering.

*

Dean buys him a cotton candy and steals half. Pink puffs sticky up their lips and hands. Dean licks, sucks two fingers to the knuckles, rolls his eyes back…

Ears catch fire.  
_God, Dean, you’re so gross._  
Eyes averted.

Flip-flopping insides like he’s back on the rides.

*

Shooting gallery.

_Rubber ducky’s fixin’ to get ganked! Chk-chk!_

Dean fakes racking a round in the rigged pistol. Squeezes off a shot—wild, if you didn’t know him. Whispers:

 _Sight’s off about..._  
Thumb and forefinger.

He spouts movie quotes and peppers ducks with pellets. Light breaks until Dean’s all he can see. T-shirt drawn tight, see-through sweaty and bunched in Dean’s low back dip. Jeans slouched at his hips. 

_Winner!_  
yells the vendor, eyes Dean.

Sudden press, crowd he’s just noticed. Nobody’s paying to play.

Stuffed dog, size of his backpack. Blue and white felt, flop-eared and bow-tied.

 _For you, Sammy._  
Held out, scruff of its neck.  
_With all my heart._

*

Dean leads him to the action’s edge, scatter of picnic tables past the concessions. They share a cherry Coke, watch the fairgrounds quiet down. 

Dean puckers wet around a red and white striped straw. Drags fingers through the condensation on their paper cup. He puts his lips where Dean’s just were. Imagination, sure, but Dean’s heat lingers.

Two tables over a toddler wails. Past bedtime, mother hushes but,

_—doggie! doggie!—_

Chubby, grabby hands stretch, mother apologetic. He eyes Dean. Smallest shrug.

_Is it okay—_

’Cause, it’s not like he can take it with him, carry it on the road, explain it to Dad… 

So he memorizes: white snout, paws, and belly, everywhere else royal blue. Satiny gold bow tied at its throat. Marble eyes. Fuzzy to the touch. 

Held out, scruff of its neck.  
_—if he goes home with you?_

_Doggie!_

Mother blinks. Dean squints.

*

Ferris wheel looms, maybe two stories. Operator stares out from under a John Deere ballcap. Dean fires a glare and the dude looks away.

They climb in—car creaks and rocks with their weight. Dean pulls the bar across their laps and crowds, ankle-to-shoulder. Gears clang and they lurch as the motor groans.

Stop-start, while the wheel loads up with stragglers, stretching closing time. Dean radiates at his hip. Slouches, wrists drape the bar and Dean slides right, covers his hand.

_Okay?_

And his stomach sways like one of these cars in a stiff wind. Fingers tighten with his throat. Chin forward. 

Corner of his eye. Dean cranes his neck and peers around the fairgrounds, up at the violet sky. Stealing glances, sideways sightlines. Eyes hold longer and longer before one looks away.

Operator gives a yell and their car drops as the wheel winds. Jackhammer chest, he leans into Dean. Dangling legs skate feet above the ground. 

They rise. Wind plasters hair to his scalp. Stomach swoops on the apex and Dean bumps their knees, descending again. 

So much spinning. Spider and the Centrifuge, Tilt-a-Whirl and teacups… 

Something screeches; he seizes. Dean grins. They're on top, when a hollow thunk jerks them to a stop. Dean hooks his shoulders.

He gasps. Sky above the fairground pops with fireworks. Flowers and flares. Streakers scream high into the night. Red and gold and blue fans sparkle, paint Dean’s skin. Fingers flex at his bicep. Dean licks lips.

They square up. Noses nudge and Dean leers, slanted and veil-thin. Flared pupils, shaky chin. 

Fingers climb Dean’s neck, pulse sizzles.

_How—_

_I fixed John Deere down there up with the snow cone girl._

Laugh threatens, but Dean’s lips press his, muggy and warm and he tilts. Fireworks bang-pop and glitter. Colors shift against closed lids and Dean keeps kissing, tangles hands in his collar and licks him open, faint cherry Coke where their tongues collide.

Dean steals all his air, scruff pricks his mouth corners, flash-bangs buzz his guts. 

Chug from the motor and motion, swaying, high above the midway. Dean knocks their heads together as they fall.

*

On the ground. Hooked elbows and craned necks. Fireworks finale fizzles. Booths go dark. 

_Funnel cake? For the road?_

Plate piled with flour, sugar, and grease, should turn his stomach, but—

_Yeah, okay, Dean._

smile pops like a bottle rocket.

_For the road._

**Author's Note:**

> Find the rest of the collection on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465539/chapters/56254717), [LJ](https://spn-napowrimo.livejournal.com/tag/%212020%20challenge) or [Tumblr](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/tagged/spnapo20).


End file.
